moving. This was the worst part of town for a woman to be out in at night. The walls of the alley seemed to move in. She went forward on hurrying feet, hearing the click of her heels. At the junction she paused, not sure which way to go and then she heard a squeal of brakes and the rumble of a powerful engine. The car skids up, the driver hangs out the window with a MAC-11.
Buc! Buc! Buc!
Her first shot cracks his skull, the last two explode his face all over the dashboard. The body falls back, spurting blood. Should she take the car or keep running?
She runs. Aware that the street, slick with rain, could hold anything ahead, or anyone. Her nerves sang, her heart beat.
A white light to the left. The dazzle of the pistol flashlight?
Buc!
Egypt’s heart sank. She’d just put a .45 caliber bullet into a six-year-old’s forehead.
“Fuck!” Egypt yelled as she snatched the virtual-reality headset off.
No longer alone in the dark virtual street. She was in the media room of the Chicago Police Department’s 14th District, Shakespeare station. The room was bright from strip lights and from the windows looking out on North California Avenue. Cars shooshed by, just another day in the city.
For Egypt it was anything but.
Egypt’s eyes took a second or two to adjust and she was feeling the first splinter of a headache coming on from her thirty minutes in the VR training simulator.
“Run it again! Give me one more chance,” Egypt requested, looking at Sergeant Malone.
Malone sighed. He was a twenty-year veteran of the force, built like a linebacker. He looked like Ray Lewis with less hair and a badge. A good cop, but his limp from a liquor store bust that went south fifteen years ago, would have made him a liability behind the scrimmage. He had seen it all and liked telling Egypt that he had, but she always assumed he thought she wasn’t cut out to be a police officer.
“Let’s take five, okay?” he suggested.
Reluctantly, Egypt answered, “Okay.”
They went to his office, along the long-carpeted halls. His office looked out over the parking lot, and she got the impression he’d rather it overlooked the trees running the length of the avenue. His office was full of potted plants to compensate for the lack of greenery in the view. It was like walking into a greenhouse.
Egypt took a seat while Malone poured them both a cup of coffee. He sat them on the desk, then pulled out a small bottle of brandy from his desk drawer. He held it up, raising his eyebrows in a questioning expression.
“Just a splash,” Egypt said. It might help the headache.
“A splash is all you were getting anyway,” Malone smiled. “This shits expensive.”
Malone handed her a cup, sat on the edge of his desk and sipped his brew.
“Good stuff,” he commented.
“You should be a bartender,” Egypt cracked.
Malone wasn’t in the mood for joking. He cut straight to the chase. “Moore, can I be straight with you?”
“Definitely.”
“You’re too dam pretty and too trigger happy to be a cop. What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. Egypt knew she was a conundrum no one had yet solved in the Chicago Police Department.
“I want to make a difference,” Egypt replied without hesitation. She knew it sounded lame, but it was the best she got.
“Join the Red Cross.” Her falling face made Malone soften some. “Look, Moore, I don’t know what’s driving you, I –,” he began to say.
Egypt sighed, holding up her hand. If she was to escape the lame ass reply of a typical Beauty Pageant air-head she’d just given, she might as well go the whole nine.
“My great grandmother.”
“Huh?”
“You said you didn’t know what was driving me. Well, it’s my great grandmother. She… she was a God-fearing woman. Never drank, never cursed, and never lied. All she did was go to church, until one night coming home from worship, she was gunned down in a drive-by. Senseless, random violence and she was the victim.”
The headache was replaced by the prickle of tears in the corner of her eyes. She wiped them with the heel of her hand. “It’s for her. If I can stop that happening to someone else, just one person, then it would be worthwhile.”
“I get it, but grief isn’t the reason to own a uniform, and neither is revenge. You’re wild, Moore. Too wild. Giving you a badge is like throwing gasoline on a fire. How do I trust you on the street, when you screw up so easily in the simulator?” Malone said. He wasn’t being an asshole for the sake of it, she could see in his eyes he believed what he was saying.
Egypt was furious, but she kept her composure. “Sarge, with all due respect, I think that’s bullshit. I graduated at the top of my class in the academy, my psych report gives no indication of this wildness you claim – “
Malone cut her off abruptly.
“Fuck the academy! I know a wild card when I see one, and I’m looking at one right now!” he bellowed. He took a breath and a slug of coffee. Egypt wondered how far he’d got counting to ten in his head before he spoke again. He sighed. “Look, I could easily stick you behind a desk and bury you, but you’d probably transfer to another precinct and get assigned a beat anyway. My point is, I’ve seen your kind before.”
“I’m going to be a cop, Sarge,” Egypt replied firmly. He shook his head, went around the desk and sat down. “Suppose there was a middle ground.”
“I’m listening.”
“How do you feel about undercover work?”
This she wasn’t expecting, this felt like a reprieve, a chance to prove herself to Malone and all the Chicago PD cops who thought she was all heat and no fire. “Whatever it takes,” she said finally.
Malone leaned forward. “What do you know about the music business?
“Ay yo, step up! That was your cue,” Kane said to Power, bringing him back to reality partially.
Power glanced at Kane, but he was still conscious of the beauty sitting in the corner of his eye. Damn, even this woman sat like a queen. If she’d of walked in with a leopard on a leash instead of Duppy, Power would not have been at all surprised. Power jumped tracks in his head and came back to the now.
“Yeah yeah, my bad. Go back and I’m on it.”
The beat broke in.
